


A Space of Your Own, Someone to Call Home.

by ehditaan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Has Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Invasion of Privacy, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scent Marking, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehditaan/pseuds/ehditaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a canon divergent short piece. I takes place in season 3 around episode 16, but without the blacklight party. </p><p>Derek comes home to find his space has been invaded, and he is PISSED.</p><p>This is a work in progress. All titles, ratings, and tags are subject to change. Comments/suggestions/requests are always welcome.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon divergent short piece. I takes place in season 3 around episode 16, but without the blacklight party. 
> 
> Derek comes home to find his space has been invaded, and he is PISSED.
> 
> This is a work in progress. All titles, ratings, and tags are subject to change. Comments/suggestions/requests are always welcome.

Derek could feel the Autonomic growl building in his chest at the sight of his apartment door. The comforting industrial steel had always given him what he knew to be a false sense of security in the face of a werewolf's strength. Someone had obviously wrenched the door open using brute strength, irregardless of the industrial steel lock. He wondered what it would take to get a werewolf proof door. Even that though probably wouldn't stop his space from being invaded. They would just come in the windows or punch through the brick. He had better get used to that unless he was willing to live in some windowless impregnable underground lair like Stiles always seemed to imagine him in. And Derek was too fond of his view for such measures.

He trained his ears on the apartment. It was empty of any living thing. He almost wouldn't put it past this fucked up world to have deposited some undead nightmare in his kitchen so he still entered with caution, closing the ineffective door behind himself. He was brought up short by the wrongness of the air. HIs own scent was almost erased, covered over by those of Scott and Allison and Isaac and those evil fucking twins and most of all, layered through every one of those was Stiles. Goddamned nosy, interfering Stiles had invaded his fucking home and apparently invited Boyd's murderers to the party.

All the stress and pain and tension of the past few weeks of pointless searching and capture and torture and being in Peter's constant company after having to say goodbye to the sister he hadn't had a chance to get to know again had worn him down beyond even his usual level of grouch. All he had wanted was to come home to his own place and wallow in his guilt and misery a little, build up his store of anger and repair his walls. He really just wanted to relax, to lull himself into a false sense of security for a couple of days - drink some beer, read an entire book without a supernatural emergency.

He hadn't even planned on letting anyone know he was back in town yet. If they'd survived this long without his ineffectual babysitting they could handle a couple more days on their own.

He stomped through his apartment to throw his bag down on the bed only to be brought up short. The mingled smells narrowed down here into only one possible conclusion: Stiles Stilinski had slept in his fucking bed.

He threw his bag down so hard it bounced straight onto the floor and he heard the hard won triskelion box hit the cement. He was too pissed to even care if he had cracked it. How dare that gangly motherfucker invade his space and rub his stupid scent all over his godforsaken pillows? The fact that Stiles' scent was now mixed in with his own only infuriated him more. It would be weeks before the down was back to normal. Didn't these idiotic humans realize the feathers held scent better than anything but wool? And if he washed them they would never be the same.

Suddenly his exhaustion fled in the wave of fury he felt over the sheer presumption. Derek's one semi-sacred space was his bed, he was damned if he would let the teenager think there were no consequences for defiling such a thing. He turned on his heel and slammed his way back out of the apartment.


	2. Disturbance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek goes to give Stiles what-for. But another intrusive scent throws him off track. Damn that oversensitive werewolf nose!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone's encouraging comments and kudos on the first chapter of this fic!  
> I apologize for the delay in an update but work as ever has been trying to break me down. I WILL NOT DIE!
> 
> Congrats to all you grads and summer-break-havers. Oh, to be a student again! Embrace that debt kiddies cause once you stop accruing it you have to start paying it back!
> 
> As always, let me know what you think, what you hope/want/fear.  
> -ehdi

Derek had to prevent himself from driving 20 Miles over the limit just for the satisfaction of screeching to a stop outside Stilinski’s house. Aside from the fact that his father is the Sheriff, he can’t do his baby’s tires wrong like that. He parked with exaggerated caution halfway down the block.

His proverbial hackles were raised and despite his unassailably human form he could feel himself stalking towards the house predatorily. He almost hoped Stiles wouldn’t be home so he could track the little bastard down and give him the nasty surprise he deserved.

The house was dark of all but the porch light, and perhaps a single lamp downstairs. The sheriff’s cruiser wasn’t in the driveway but Stiles’ jeep was at the curb out front. Derek didn’t use front doors unless he was pretending to be human or trying to respect someone else’s territory. He had violated Stilinski’s space out of necessity before. But the brat lost any right to the sanctity of his den when he invaded the loft.

Derek circled to the side yard below Stile’s bedroom. He had come here in a blind rage, and now he had to decide how to enact his revenge, how to irrevocably revoke any imagined invitation Stiles believed he had to Derek’s home, let alone his bed. This would be easier if Stiles were a wolf and capable of understanding a more animalistic display of dominance.

Then again, he had never reacted to the human version of intimidation except to reek of fear and a spike in his ever-present curiosity. He would occasionally admit to Derek’s ability to kill him without effort, but he usually didn’t let it stop him from doing whatever fool thing he was going to do anyway.

Derek paused below the window and listened. Stiles was clearly in his room, the lights were off, but his heart rate was too fast for him to be asleep. Derek supposed Stiles’ heart generally beat faster than average given his frenetic energy. Then again, there were other things that could make a person’s heart speed up. Stiles was a teenage boy after all.

The thought made Derek’s lip curl in distaste. Much as he was sure it would scar Stiles for life if Derek chose such a moment to make his entrance, and he would enjoy scarring the boy for life, it wasn’t a scene, or scent, that he really wanted to burst in on.

It was a windy night and without more to go on than the sound of his heartbeat it was impossible to tell what he would find in the dark room. He would normally have waited patiently for the opportune moment to ambush his prey, but his rage induced adrenalin rush was fading, and it really had been a long ass fortnight.

He wasn’t one for overly planning his interactions with humans anyway, and an adolescent boy ought to be easier to scare out of his skin than most. Derek bent at the knees, feeling his sore muscles tense in readiness. He sprung effortlessly and caught the window ledge, bracing his feet on the side of the house, with less noise than would be heard over the wind. He slowly pulled himself up just enough to peer into the room, but the curtains were closed. There was nothing for it but to proceed.

He held himself up with one hand and worked his claws under the window frame with the other. When he had created enough space for his fingers he lifted the window slowly and silently. He had learned from previous visits how easy it was to enter this room stealthily. He would have pointed it out so Stilinski could fortify his den but he honestly just didn’t care that much about the kid, and being able to come and go freely was more important to him than Stilinski’s ability to prevent any other nasties from entering.

He pulled himself up and through the window, getting through the gauzy curtains, in one smooth motion. The scent of the room was thick and nauseating. But rather than the scent of arousal, which he had been half prepared for, the air was suffused with fear.

Derek had been hoping to incite just this reaction but to find it mixed so cloyingly with anxiety and desperation made the small room suffocating. He turned instinctually toward the window to pull in some fresh air. He almost wanted to jump right back out again but the sounds Stilinski was making stopped him. He looked over his shoulder to check the boys eyes were closed, then he pushed the curtains aside and fully opened the window to air out the room.

Stiles was whimpering. It was a non-sound, just the smallest vocalization in the back of his throat. But Derek’s heart clenched involuntarily remembering the last time he had heard such a sound. When his sister was a pup and he was a child the two of them had shared a room for a weekend when some envoy from another pack had come to stay. Cora had a nightmare and she had whimpered just like that. It scared Derek, raised some animal instinct in him. He had crept downstairs to his parents in his favorite footie PJs with frolicking cartoon wolves on them.

The image of them was still clear in his mind; his parents, alive and laughing in the warm light of candles, glasses of bitter smelling aconite wine in their hands. Derek had gone to pull on his father’s sleeve. Dad had taken one look at him with his eyes flared yellow and tiny fangs jutting over his lower lip, and picked him up to ask what was wrong. Together they’d gone back upstairs to wake Cora from her nightmare and tuck her in with Derek who promised to protect her from the bad guys in the night.

Derek was ripped abruptly from this bittersweet memory when Stiles made a noise louder than his throaty whimpers. It took him a moment to reorient himself and remember what he was doing here. He had come to teach Stiles a lesson. It looked like he would have to wake him up to do it, even if the smell was still making him uncomfortable.

He went to stand over the bed, getting ready to shake the skinny boy awake more roughly than was strictly necessary. But then he got a proper look at him. Stiles’ fair skin was sheened with sweat. His heart was beating even faster now and his breath was coming in irregular gasps. As Derek watched his long limbs thrashed, kicking the covers a few inches lower, and he let out another soft cry.

Suddenly Derek wasn’t quite sure what to do. While he hesitated Stiles voiced a whimper so pitiful it was almost a sob and he moved against the bed so his ratty t-shirt was pulled askew. Every exhale now held a moan or a breathy sob.

Derek chided himself for his inaction. Why should he care if Stilinski was having a nightmare? Derek had plenty of his own. It was why he needed his bed to feel like a safe place, a place that only he could get to. Stiles had violated that with the same careless presumption that made him try to take on monsters he couldn’t handle and make grabby hands at anything in sight. Derek deserved his god damned space; he needed it to be his own, and only his. Especially after what had happened with… Nope. No, not thinking about that and family in one night or he was guaranteed to be in no better state than Stilinski the second his head hit the pillow.

The kid was muttering incomprehensibly now. Derek sighed and turned to go. If he didn’t have enough righteous anger to kick someone when they were down he might as well get away from this clinging smell. It made him uneasy. Besides, what was the point in scaring the crap out of someone who was already afraid? Better to do it when he felt safe for maximum effect.

Derek was at the window again when Stiles cried out at full volume. The one thing Derek could make out was a desperate plea of “Dad, no!”

He turned back despite himself. Stiles was curled up on his side, sheets kicked down to twist around his legs. “Please,” he sobbed, voice breaking “please don’t leave me alone… Dad.”

The smell rolling off him now was even more disturbing. It was a horrifying bouquet of terror, heart-wrenching grief, and… Resignation. Derek couldn’t leave him like that. It was just too damned pathetic. And if he were being honest with himself, which he didn’t make a habit of on principal, it cut a little too close to home.

That didn’t make Derek a teddy bear though. If anything it only made him more irritable than usual. So when he woke Stiles it wasn’t with a gentle whisper, or even with a hand on his shoulder. He crouched down until his face was just above Stiles’. He was disconcerted to see tear tracks mingled with the cold sweat on his face.

He brushed the feeling aside and said, just above normal volume, “Stiles wake up.”

If he had wanted to scare the living crap out of the kid he had succeeded admirably. Stiles shouted and scrambled back into the corner his bed was pushed against, still tangled in his sheets. He leaned against the wall there, gasping and eyes wide with one hand fisted in a pillow and the other pressed hard against his chest.

He spluttered for a few seconds, unable to form a coherent sound let alone sentence. Derek quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t stand. He wouldn’t feel quite right towering over someone in this state. He wasn’t a bully… most of the time.

Finally Stiles managed “Wha.. What, Derek… I… What?” His heartbeat was still completely out of control, his scent overpowering.

Derek stared at him for a moment. Some lingering alpha instinct made him want make this mess of a boy feel safe, almost made him want to reach out. But nightmares weren’t something he could growl at, Stiles wasn’t his responsibility, and Derek wasn’t an alpha anymore.

Instead he held onto his default death stare and said, “Don’t sleep in my bed.”

Before Stiles could do more than gape at him he was out the window, closing it behind himself as he dropped to the ground. The wind had calmed enough that Derek could hear Stiles’ breath hitching as he jogged to his car.

When Derek finally reached the quiet of his own loft for the second time that night he looked at his bed in exhaustion trying to muster up the energy to change his sheets. He gave up, knowing it wouldn’t help much with the pillows and the mattress anyway. He stepped out of his shoes, jeans, and socks and collapsed facedown on top of the comforter. As Stiles’ scent filled his nose he could only be grateful that the boy hadn’t had a nightmare whenever he’d slept here.


End file.
